


In Need

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Takes a Bath, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Jaskier helps an injured Geralt, much to Geralt's chagrin.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 386
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	In Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiffElderberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiffElderberry/gifts).



By the time Geralt's legs gave out on him, there was thankfully a tree to break his fall. 

"Fuck." 

He had killed the manticore, but lost a lot of his own blood in the process. He thought the bleeding had stopped, but he was lightheaded, unable to continue. 

Roach was looking at him expectantly. 

"Nothing you can do," Geralt said. "I just need to rest." He slumped back against the tree, that much talking having exhausted him. He felt foolish but at least no one was around to see it. He wasn't worried about himself; he would heal. But he would be delayed in moving on to the next job, and _that_ was annoying. 

He closed his eyes.

"Geralt, are you alive?" 

He didn't open his eyes. He was dreaming. It was a horrible hallucination brought on by blood loss. 

"Geralt?" The voice was closer now and someone was prodding him. 

Gently. Not in that insistent way he'd expected Jaskier to prod him. 

Geralt opened his eyes. 

"I'm alive," he muttered. 

"Good." Perhaps it was his imagination, but Jaskier looked genuinely worried; his face was pale. "Do you need help?" 

"No." 

Roach whinnied. 

"I met Roach in the road," Jaskier said, adjusting his lute on his shoulder. "I knew something was wrong. Come on, let's get you to a doctor." 

"I don't need a doctor."

"Well, you don't need to be lying in the woods. Come on." Jaskier crouched, as though he actually expected Geralt to need help standing. Geralt gave him a withering look but Jaskier did not back down. 

Sighing, Geralt put his arm around Jaskier's shoulders. He had expected Jaskier to be no help at all in getting himself vertical again, but Jaskier's arms were steady and he braced Geralt with his body. Together, they staggered through the clearing to where Roach waited on the road. 

"I don't—" Geralt began, but Jaskier did not move, supporting him as he mounted up. Jaskier swung himself into the saddle in front of him. Geralt nearly objected, but an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion washed over him, and—yes, he was slumping forward against Jaskier's back. 

"Hold on," Jaskier said, taking the reins. 

It would have been much more awkward if he did not trust Roach utterly. The ride was smooth, and Geralt slipped into unconscious some moments later. The next thing he was aware of was Jaskier's arms around him again.

"You don't have to walk far," he was saying. "Just hold on to me." 

Somehow, Jaskier's words held all the persuasive power of a compulsion spell. Geralt found himself staggering across an unremarkable inn's common room and up the stairs. 

The mattress was thin, but Geralt's eyes closed again almost as soon as his body landed on it. The last thing he was dimly aware of was Jaskier's voice murmuring "Rest." 

He did. 

**

He did not know what time it was when he woke, for the room was windowless. Jaskier was hunched over the one table in the center of the room, a single candle illuminating his parchment—he was working out a song. 

Geralt watched him. Jaskier was fascinating when he didn't know he was being watched, he decided, the way he would touch the pen to his bottom lip or murmur to himself as he wrote. 

He may have slipped back to sleep, for the next thing he knew, Jaskier was standing over him. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead." He had stripped to his shirtsleeves and, Geralt realized, Jaskier must have gotten him out of his clothes, too. He looked down at himself. His shirt was open and the buttons of his breeches had been undone. 

"I was checking for wounds," Jaskier said indignantly. 

"I didn't have any."

"I know."

Geralt sighed. "Thank you for your concern." 

"Are you hungry?" 

"Starving." 

He did not quite feel up to getting out of bed, which he didn't have to admit because Jaskier brought him his food. Geralt managed to sit up on his own and reached for the tray himself to stave off any question of if Jaskier would need to feed him. 

"Are you feeling better?" 

"Yes." It wasn't a lie; his head was clearing after his experience yesterday. 

"What happened?" 

Geralt explained his encounter with the manticore. Describing what had happened, it did not even feel that it had happened to him, though his stomach seemed to ache as he described being pierced by its stinger. 

By the end, Jaskier was beside him on the bed, stroking his hair. He did not pull away, but leaned into the touch. 

"I'm all right," he said, wondering if it was for himself or for Jaskier. 

"I know." Jaskier's face was impossibly closer, his lips just inches away… "Let me get you a bath."

Geralt almost groaned, but not from pain. He could almost taste Jaskier's lips on his, wanted it more than he'd ever imagined he could. What exactly had it been that had made Jaskier be the one Roach met on the road? This thought tugged uncomfortably at his abdomen. 

"Now," Jaskier said, pulling him out of his reverie. Geralt had barely noticed the tub being brought in and filled. "How much help do you need?" 

Geralt did not _need_ any help, but he did not exactly tell Jaskier this. 

Instead, he let Jaskier pull the clothes from his body—what few clothes he was wearing. He shivered as his skin was exposed to the room's cool air, and he noted Jaskier's fingers were lingering in places they did not technically _need_ to linger, fingertips grazing his bicep as his shirt slid from his shoulders. 

He let out a noise of pleasure as he slid into the warm water. Jaskier stood behind him, shirt sleeves rolled up. "Shall I wash your hair?" 

The prospect made Geralt shiver, and he did not even care at this point if Jaskier noticed. "Yes," he said gruffly. 

Jaskier did not speak as he soaped Geralt's hair and he closed his eyes, simply enjoying the feeling of the warm water on his sore muscles and the bard's fingers in his hair. 

And then Jaskier began to hum. 

Geralt held his tongue, suppressing the urge to ask what the tune was. At least there were no words. It was almost as soothing as Jaskier's fingertips on his scalp. Another shiver went down his spine. 

"Enjoying this?" Jaskier's voice was husky, underlain with what Geralt found himself hoping was desire. 

Geralt grunted, and Jaskier laughed. "You do have nice hair." 

"Mmm." It was hard to be annoyed when someone was washing his hair. He had not expected Jaskier to be so good at it.

"I'm going to rinse it now," Jaskier warned, and Geralt closed his eyes as warm water cascaded down his head. Jaskier's fingers remained working, getting the soap out, and Geralt was almost disappointed when Jaskier brought out the towel with a flourish. 

Geralt wrapped it around his dripping body and climbed out of the bath. Jaskier showed no sign of moving, however.

"Sit," he said. "I'll dry your hair." 

Candlelight reflected off eyes, and Geralt detected a hint of nervousness that made him almost smile. "All right."

Jaskier worked slowly, as though it was of the utmost importance that Geralt's hair be absolutely dry. The pretense would have been funny if it weren't so frustrating; Geralt left the towel draped over his lap because to move it would have betrayed how it really felt to have Jaskier's hands in his hair. It was almost too much when he produced the comb, running it carefully through Geralt's damp hair, being sure not to pull.

"There," Jaskier said, laying the towel and the comb aside. "You're done."

"Jaskier," Geralt said, his voice sounding thick to his own ears. "If you don't get in that bed right now, I'll… I don't know what I'll do." 

"You don't need to ask twice." Jaskier was unbuttoning his doublet faster than would someone who was truly surprised. 

Their first kiss was clumsy and desperate; Jaskier was not even half disrobed, and they had to keep pausing so he could rectify this. By the time they collapsed together onto the bed, Geralt let out a groan of relief. 

"I guess you _are_ feeling better," Jaskier said. 

Geralt kissed him again, if only to make him be quiet. He was not ungrateful for Jaskier's concern, but he needed none of it now. 

If he had to take drastic measures to prove he was feeling better, so be it.


End file.
